


Rooftop Madness

by Opalgirl



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: F/M, General, Humor, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalgirl/pseuds/Opalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes danced and her smile was nothing if not imp-like. In the shadows, it looked as if she was an incarnation of her father's patron Trickster God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rooftop Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime during Squire - I'm thinking before Shinkokami arrives. Poor, poor Roald. He doesn't know what's hit him. Originally written for the Peculiar Pairings Fic-a-thon at [Goldenlake](http://fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com/index.cgi).

_Aly!_” Roald hissed under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to free his sleeve from the girl’s grasp. “I can’t.”

“And why not?” She tugged him along, firmly.

Roald sighed. “I have responsibilities, Aly,” he explained for the hundredth time – not just to her, but to his friends among the pages and squires. “I am a prince - I have things to do.”

Aly’s eyebrows rose as she turned to face him, keeping her grip on his sleeve. “And you’re a human too, Roald,” she informed him. “Prince or not. Your father…”

“Was spoiled rotten! Aly, _let go_.”

“No.” Her mouth set into a firm line and her grip only tightened. “You’re stuffy and you’re boring. We’re going to fix that.”

Roald flinched. “I am _not _boring,” he muttered, planting his feet on the cobblestones. Pain shot through his shin. Roald swore and glared at Aly. “You did _not_ just kick me, Alianne.”

“I did, Your Royal Highness. Come on.”

Hoping that Father, Uncle Myles, Cousin Gary, and Uncle Gareth would forget that he was supposed to attend their meeting… or at least forgive him, Roald straightened to his full height.

“Don’t get on your dignity now,” Aly warned. “Are you coming?”

“Jasson would be better company for you,” Roald grumbled, surprised by the strength Aly had to drag him. “And I am not my father.”

“No. Obviously not.” The mocking gleam in her eyes made him furious.

“What in Mithros’ name is _that_ supposed to mean?” She didn’t answer him, only dragged him through the gardens, across a courtyard and into the block of stables where the nobles kept their horses.

“Evenin’, Miss Aly.” Stefan stepped out of the shadows, hands thrust into his breeches pockets. “And Your Highness.”

The hostler bowed, barely keeping the smile off his face. _Of course_ Stefan was involved in whatever it was Aly was plotting. Roald nodded in greeting. “Your Da says to tell you that y’ have to bring His Highness back in one piece,” the hostler said, running a hand through his straw-like hair. “I’d be agreeing wit’ him.”

Aly smirked. “Da needn’t worry. I almost didn’t get him out here.”

****

“The roof?” Roald stared at this mad girl in front of him. It didn’t matter that she was nearly family, she was mad. She wanted him to climb on top of a stable roof at this hour of the night, for reasons he didn’t understand.

“Why not?” Aly tucked her skirt into her sash and offered him a hand.

Roald scowled; this broke nearly every rule of propriety he knew of, never mind etiquette. It also defied sense. Somehow, a few awkward moments later, he found himself sitting next to Aly on the rooftop of the stable, and the madwoman in question was digging in a bag she’d brought along.

The slender shape of the bottle was revealed and Roald sighed. “Do I want to know where you got that?”

Aly elbowed him - _hard_. “Do you insult the honor of every young lady you meet by accusing her of stealing, Your Highness?” She looked hurt in the dim light, but he knew that was just for show. Aly was a fine actress. Her father routinely suggested that she should take up with a company of Players – and as far as Roald knew, Uncle George was entirely serious about that.

“Why are we up here?” He asked, turning his attention to her. “You dragged me up here… for what?”

She exhaled impatiently, and then grasped his chin in her hand. “Look, silly. Look around you.” She turned his head, showing him the views of the Royal Forest in the distance, the palace behind them, and the city beyond the walls.

“And…”

“Roald, have you _ever_ done anything just for the sake of doing it?” She interrupted him to demand. “_Ever_?”

“I don’t have that luxury,” he told her, “I’m the heir. I have responsibilities. I’ve had them since I was born.”

Her face turned sad, for a moment; she pitied him. Roald bit the inside of his cheek, ready to pull away from her. He didn’t deserve her pity.

“Now you have,” Aly told him, brightly. “Now, hush. Uncle Coram says there’s too much inbreeding amongst nobles and that you all lose a bit of sense because of it, see?”

He stared at her as she lay back on the roof, watching the night sky overhead.

“And a crossing between commoners and nobles obviously leads to madness,” he told her, thinking she wasn’t listening to him.

“Thom and Alan aren’t mad. Just me,” she retorted, her face alight with mischief.

“Unlike you, I have to worry about what people think, Aly. I have to worry about who I might offend. I can’t flirt among the eligible ladies like you do the men, because I’m as good as married.”

She shrugged, green eyes flickering with some emotion. “But you aren’t yet, are you?”

He opened his mouth and she sat up, holding up her hand. “Stop for a minute. Stop thinking about politics. Think about yourself. You live a boring life, Roald.”

“I don’t have the freedom that you and Alan and Thom do,” he told her. “Even Liam and Jasson have more freedom. They’re unlikely to ever inherit. Since treaties haven’t hinged on their marriages since they were born, they can largely do as they please.”

“We’re away from the palace and all of that – well, as far away as I could get you. Now, hush.” She offered him the bottle and Roald shook his head, refusing to take it. Aly rolled her eyes at him. “Go on.” She held the cork in her fingers and he could smell the wine in the open bottle. To placate her, and wondering when he would have the opportunity to drink wine straight from the bottle again in his life, Roald drank. Her hands cupped his, and when he offered the bottle back to her, she pressed it into his hands.

“Aly.” He smiled, crookedly. “I inherited Father’s Gift. Things could wind up floating in midair, at this rate.”

She corked the vessel, shaking her head. “Sensible, boring Roald. Gods, how dull it must be. And the ladies think you’re shy, you know?” She patted his shoulder, and for a moment, he swore she was mocking him. Her eyes danced and her smile was nothing if not imp-like. In the shadows, it looked as if she was an incarnation of her father’s patron Trickster God.

“It makes me ill, anyway,” he confided. “And I…”

Aly shut him up by leaning across him to seal her mouth across his.

 


End file.
